


It’s Just a Bootie Call

by sonofabiscuit77



Series: I love Soulless!Sam [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Claiming, Emotional Manipulation, Infidelity, M/M, Mind Games, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabiscuit77/pseuds/sonofabiscuit77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robo!Sam pays a call on his brother between eps 601 and 602, they end up fucking in Dean and Lisa’s bed. This originated as an unfinished fill for <a href="http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/"></a><b>blindfold_spn</b> which asked for Dean cheating on Lisa with Robo!Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Just a Bootie Call

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a prompt at the sadly defunct blindfold meme which I had half-written for ages, so thanks to the original anonymous prompter for inspiring me. I should also add that this fic has very few redeeming features and is probably way more angsty than a kink fic should be.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Infidelity, manhandling, bruising/marking/claiming kink, possessive and jealous!boys, Robo!Sam being a toppy bastard, mind-fuckery, some angst.
> 
> Title taken from “Bootie Call” by All Saints which I've been humming all day.

  
**It’s Just a Bootie Call**

The car, that black piece of plastic crap which for reasons completely unknown to Dean his brother seemed to favor over his baby, was sitting on the opposite side of the street when he turned the corner. He pulled his truck up onto the driveway and killed the engine. He listened to it tick over for a couple of beats then he lifted his eyes to the rearview and watched Sam unfold himself from the car. Sam locked the door and walked purposefully across the street. Dean pressed his lips together and got slowly out of his truck.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him, his tone affable, like this was just another regular social call.

Dean stared at his brother. He couldn’t make out Sam’s expression, the sun’s glare was caught in his eyes and Sam wasn’t looking at him, but past Dean’s shoulder, towards the front porch. The silence seemed to hold and drag, so he forced his own voice into the same easy tone as Sam’s.

“Hey. What you doing here, man?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Sam’s mouth twitched, like the blatant and obvious lie was amusing to him. His eyes slid over Dean, quick, assessing, almost perfunctory. He looked away again, obviously done, and Dean felt suddenly like he’d failed some test. The same sensation as when he’d watched Sam drive away from him two weeks before, after that strange, awkward hunt with the djinn.

Sam tapped his hand against the side of the truck, peered down into the bed. “You’ve been working?”

“Yes.”

“So you got a job so soon? Thought the economy was supposed to be in the toilet.”

“Guess I got lucky.”

Sam nodded. He looked like he was barely paying attention, like even making this pitiful amount of small talk with his brother wasn’t worth his time. Finally, he returned his attention to Dean, asked, “Are you going to invite me in?”

Dean hesitated; it was stupid – he wasn’t even sure why – but there was something about having Sam here, having him so close. After all that time, after all the times he’d dreamed about this, now knowing that he could have had this at any time over the past year.

At last, he nodded, pushed out a breath. “Yeah, course, dude.”

He felt Sam close behind him as he unlocked the front door. He thought about all those times they’d broken into places, one masking the other while they picked the locks, how they’d duck inside, deft and quick, their fingers curled around their weapons, ready to draw. Sam would be so close behind him, elbows brushing together, hearts beating fast.

Sam wasn’t standing close to him now; he was leaving a good few inches between their bodies as he followed Dean down the hall and into the kitchen. Dean shrugged off his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair. Sam lingered in the doorway, scanning the room with an unreadable look on his face.

“You want a beer?” Dean said.

“Sure,” said Sam.

He turned his back on his brother, crossing the floor to wrench open the refrigerator. He reached inside, gathered up two cold, damp longnecks from the shelf.

“Dean.”

He froze in place. Sam was standing behind him, directly behind him; close enough for Dean to feel the heat bleeding off his body, close enough to feel his breath puffing against his neck. He hadn’t heard him move, hadn’t felt him move. He was about to make a comment about where the fuck had Sam picked up super stealthy ninja skills like that when Sam’s hand curled around his body and tugged his own hand away from the edge of the refrigerator.

The cold air was blowing against Dean’s front, but he felt hot all over, Sam’s proximity making the sweat bead and pool in the small of his back, the skin on the back of his hand tingling as Sam’s enormous hand swallowed his own. He was still holding the beers in his other hand and he replaced them on the shelf, took a step back into Sam’s body. The refrigerator door puffed closed with a spongy, plastic sound, and Dean held his breath as Sam lowered his head to whisper, “Did you think about this, Dean? While I was gone?”

His heart skipped a couple of beats and it seemed to take an age for him to find his voice again. “Yes,” he said truthfully. Some days he’d barely thought of anything else.

Sam smiled, and Dean felt it, the curve of his brother’s lips against his jaw.

“Sammy, why didn’t you come before? Why’d you—“

“Shh,” Sam murmured, the long, drawn-out, sibilant sound skimming over Dean’s ear, making the small hairs prick up. He put his mouth to Dean’s neck, and Dean shivered as he felt his brother’s lips slide over his skin. Sam opened his mouth, mouthed at Dean’s neck, and Dean knew that move, knew what was coming next.

“Sam, hey, none of that, man. No vampire shit, okay?” he said, pulling out of Sam’s grasp. He steadied himself against the fridge and turned to look back at his brother who looked a little annoyed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Sam demanded.

“No marks, dude.” He gestured to his neck. “I know that used to be your thing, and I know I always tolerated it because I’m such an awesome big brother, but you can’t leave marks anymore.”

“’Cause of Lisa,” Sam stated.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, man, obviously.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, the annoyance morphing into something that looked like contempt. “Seriously? Isn’t it a little late for that? All this,” he waved a hand, taking in the room around them, “you know it’s not permanent, right? You know this isn’t who you are.” His hands came out, resting warm and huge on Dean’s shoulders. “I know you were upset that I left you for so long, and I think now that maybe I was wrong to do that. But I really did think I was doing the best thing for you.” He paused and one of his hands slid across Dean’s shoulder, fingers brushing his throat, the side of his face, his jaw. His expression softened, eyes getting wide and liquid. “I just forgot - how good you feel.”

Dean swallowed. Sam was looking down at him with an expression that was – just pure Sam, the look Dean had tried to conjur up every time he’d closed his eyes. Slowly Sam bent his head and pressed his lips to Dean’s. He didn’t resist, God help him, he didn’t resist, just reached for his brother, fingers clumsy and clutching as they twined into Sam's longer, shaggier hair. Sam growled and shoved him back against the refrigerator, the machine jostling under the onslaught. Ben’s color-coded schedule ripped and tore free, cascading to the floor along with the photographs Lisa had tacked up the day they’d moved in.

It used to be like this sometimes between them: this ferocious, desperate passion, Sam slamming him into walls and furniture, bending him over beds and couches and the hood of the car, whatever was nearest. And Dean let him, God, he more than let him. He asked for it, encouraging and demanding more every time. And then afterwards… standing in front of the mirror in a motel bathroom, staring at the marks on his hips and thighs where Sam’s fingers had punched into his flesh, where Sam’s mouth and teeth had left patterns across his skin. He’d see his brother’s reflection in the mirror, staring at the marks he’d left all over Dean’s body, his eyes burning with guilt and shame, but also with something else, something far more insidious and enduring: satisfaction at a job well done.

Sam had always liked to leave his mark on his big brother. And Dean, well, Dean had never protested, never made any move to stop him. Sam hadn’t even needed to ask. Dean had always rolled over when it came to Sam, and he wasn’t going to change now.

“I want to fuck you. I have to fuck you,” Sam panted into the side of Dean’s face, words vibrating against Dean’s skin. He drew his head back, until their eyes met, his gaze hot and dark and impatient as it bored into Dean’s face.

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Dean breathed. “But, not here, Sammy. Your motel, okay? Where’re you staying?”

“Why not here?” Sam demanded. “They won’t be back for hours.”

Dean wondered momentarily just how Sam knew that. He hadn’t said anything about where Lisa and Ben had gone or when they’d be back, but Sam was leaning in again to take his mouth and all coherent thought was floating away as he melted into his brother’s body. Sam yanked him away from the refrigerator, dragged him towards the kitchen table and wrestled him around, bending him over until Dean’s face was hovering inches over the wooden surface.

“I should take you here. Right here. On this table where you eat breakfast with your new family. What do you think, Dean? D'you wanna do it here?" He dragged his tongue over the top nub of Dean’s spine and blew gently. His forefinger caressed Dean's knuckles where his hand still gripped Dean's wrist. "Or maybe we should take it upstairs, to the bedroom?”

Dean stiffened, he twisted his head as much as he could to peer up at his brother. “No, not there."

Sam frowned, looking irritated again. “Why not? I know you've been thinking about that, about the two of us. Hell, maybe even while you were fucking her? Were you thinking of me when you were fucking her?”

Dean jerked himself out of Sam's hold with a burst of effort that surprised even him. “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Sam, you were the one who told me to go to her. You made me promise. If you hadn’t done that…” he trailed off, let his mouth clamp closed, glaring at his brother.

Sam was staring back at him, his face flushed, eyes dark and unreadable, a flicker of something Dean couldn't quite make out in his expression. Sam swallowed, blinked, and then abruptly, his expression crumpled, his eyes glazing over with shiny, unshed tears.

“Dean,” he whispered, and it was a plea, the same helpless, wanting sound that curled and snaked around every barrier and wall Dean could ever put up. It flickered down the cord that stretched between the two of them, the one that hooked into Dean’s insides, into his goddamn heart, and engraved Sam’s name right across it. Dean was incapable of not responding to that sound.

“I’m sorry. I just – Dean, I’m sorry. Seeing you again, thinking of you with someone else.” Sam bowed his head, hair falling to cover his eyes. “I know I’m fucked up, I know I shouldn’t feel like this. But what happened down there—“

“Don’t,” Dean said suddenly. “Don’t, Sammy, don’t think about that, okay? Shh, hey, it’ll be alright.” He placed his hand on his brother’s arm, squeezed gently. “Hey, I’m here, okay? And it’ll be alright.”

“Right, sure,” Sam said, but his tone was flat, disbelieving. And why should he believe? Dean didn’t even believe himself. He knew, God, he knew.

He cupped Sam’s cheek, watched the ripple of his throat as he swallowed, getting hold of himself again. He could feel the longing swell and rise inside him until his chest was physically aching with it. He’d felt so empty for so long, he hadn’t even realized how empty. He’d been going through the motions for the entire past year. But now Sam was back, and it had been so long, too long, and Sam was back and here, right in front of him, wanting him. He couldn’t be angry with him, not when he knew what Sammy had been through, not when he was here, right under his fingertips.

He touched Sam’s face, his beloved face. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut; he exhaled into the side of Dean's face, cupped the back of Dean’s neck and brought their mouths together in a long kiss.

Dean pulled away from the kiss first. They stared at each other for what felt like a long time, then Dean reached down, took his brother’s hand in his and led him up the stairs.

He hesitated outside the master bedroom, staring at the bed. He’d made love to Lisa in that bed only a few days ago. He’d been lying awake and thinking about Sam, (no change there), except this time it wasn’t desolate, aching grief that had kept him awake, but confusion and hurt, remembering how Sam had lied to him for so long, how he’d let him go on thinking he was dead. Lisa had woken up and rolled over to kiss him. Seeing the look on his face, she’d climbed on top of him and ridden him, her hands tender and affectionate as they ran over his body with none of Sam’s bruising, demanding neediness. It’d been good, and she’d felt good, really damn good, except he hadn’t been thinking about her at all.

“Dean?” Sam prompted him.

Dean felt his brother’s arm circle him from behind, his chin hook over his shoulder to nuzzle the side of Dean’s face. “Sammy, I don’t know if here is the right place.”

“Mmm, yes you do, you know you do,” Sam murmured. He kissed down Dean’s jaw, down the side of his neck, hesitating over his pulse point, his breath warm and moist. Dean shivered at the sensation, felt Sam press his hips up against his ass, his brother’s erection tantalizing against the small of his back. “I want you,” Sam said. “It’s not the same without you, Dean. I’ve missed you so much.”

Dean bowed his head, his throat was aching, and Sam had said it, said what he’d been longing to hear. He’d tried not to be hurt by Sam’s strange, distant behavior the last time, tried to reconcile it with the trauma Sam must be feeling. But the thought of Sam hunting with other people, stocking up some piece of plastic junk with new weapons while his baby was sitting under a tarpaulin, Sam having this whole other life without him – oh yeah, that had hurt.

“No one else feels like you,” Sam murmured. “No one else tastes like you. All those others – they’re not like you, not as good as you.” He sounded almost angry about it, his voice tense and shaking as he skimmed his hand down Dean’s front to cup his dick, roll his balls between his fingers.

The words registered and Dean felt his blood run cold, his body freeze up. He pulled out of Sam’s embrace, spun around to stare at him. “You’ve been sleeping with other people?”

Sam had been topside for a year, without telling him, and he’d been – been fucking other people all that time. And sure, Dean hadn’t exactly been celibate, of course not. But he’d only been with Lisa and that was, like he’d told Sam, he’d gone to her because Sam had made him promise. So sue him if he got some small amount of solace from it. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. Sam had a big libido. He knew that better than anyone. And the last time Sam had been without him for more than a month, he’d taken up with that back-stabbing demon bitch. Of course, Sam wasn’t going to keep it in his pants for an entire year. And why the hell should he? It wasn’t like they’d ever been exclusive. He was being ridiculous.

Sam was watching him carefully. He took a step forward, hand outstretched, big dark eyes locked on Dean’s face. “I promise, no demons this time, Dean. No werewolves, no demons, no shapeshifters, no sirens. Just—“ he broke off, made a self-deprecating grimace with his mouth and bowed his head, looking a little sheepish. “Actually, uh, hookers.”

“Hookers?” Dean blinked. “Seriously? You?” The mere concept that someone who looked like Sam had to ever _pay_ for it. Well, it was baffling. Not to mention the fact that Sam just wouldn't ever consider doing something like that. Not the Sam he'd known. Evidently, everything Sam had been through, everything he claimed not to remember, it had changed him. He was going to have to be more patient, more understanding with him. After all, in the grand scheme of things what was a few hookers?

Sam was eyeing him warily. “You're not mad, are you?" he said.

"I, no. _No_ ," Dean said quickly, trying to look reassuring. "Just surprised is all. Couldn't ever imagine you doing that."

Sam shrugged, his mouth flickered into a thin, brittle line. "Things change, Dean. I've been working a lot. I don't have time to make connections in bars. And anyway, the ones I do hook up with are never as good as I remember it being with you. Hiring a professional is convenient. For those times when my right hand and my memories aren’t enough. So, yeah, I've been paying for it. I'm not proud of it. Now though..." he trailed off, licked his lips, eyes narrowing in on Dean's face. "I want to go back to how it was. I want you and me. Together, on the road. Don’t you want that too?”

Dean didn’t get a chance to respond before Sam was crowding into him, leaning down to take his mouth in another long, bruising kiss. Dean sank into it, letting Sam manhandle him down and onto the bed, push him down into the covers that smelt of Lisa’s shampoo and the detergent they used.

Sam undressed him slowly. He lingered over each bare patch of skin, kissing his hipbones and nosing between his thighs, licking his belly button and tonguing his nipples, making Dean arch up from the bed and beg for it as he’d done so many times before. He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Sam stripped out of his own clothes. He was so big, so gorgeous, even more muscled and chiseled and imposing than he remembered. He loomed over Dean on all fours, stared intensely down into his eyes, his cock angry and fat as it bobbed against his flat, hard belly. There was no softness to Sam now, all of it worn away by his time in hell and his time alone.

He took Dean face to face the first time. And then when that wasn’t enough to fill up the deep, aching need inside both of them, he took Dean from behind. He pulled him back onto his lap and bit into the muscle of Dean’s shoulder, teeth already sinking in before Dean was aware of it and trying to wriggle out of that claiming grasp.

“No,” Sam growled, “no, gotta – gotta remember how you taste.”

And Dean fluttered his eyes shut obediently and keened in pleasure when Sam’s teeth sank in enough to draw blood, distantly aware that he was going to have to wear t-shirts to bed for the next week and that Sam probably wanted it that way.

They collapsed on top of the sheets when they were done. The churning, nervous tension in Dean's gut hadn’t dissipated and he wasn’t sure why. Sex with Sam had always been the best medicine, always taken the edge off any kind of mood, but this time, he felt off-kilter.

“You’ll have to change the sheets,” Sam said finally, his voice matter-of-fact. “Don’t worry; you’ve got plenty of time. They won’t be back for another hour at least.”

Dean raised his head from the bed and turned onto his side to look down into his brother’s face. The twitchy, unsure feeling was still there and he pushed it away, hiked up one eyebrow, pasting on a shit-eating grin. “Dude, have you been going all Edward Cullen on me?”

Sam smirked. “In my defense, you make a hotter Bella than Kristen whatsherface.”

“Creeper.” He swallowed, kept looking at his brother. “So, uh, for real? You’ve been watching my ass?”

“You know how I feel about your ass.”

He rolled his eyes, mustering up a smile. He still felt weird. Sam had been watching them and he hadn’t even noticed. He pushed himself up and off the bed, bending to tug on his boxers. Sam was sitting up, sprawled against the headboard. His cock lay across his thigh, sated and shiny, his chest and neck flushed rosy pink, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He looked debauched and self-satisfied and shameless in a way Dean could never remember his brother being before. Sam had always been more circumspect in his desire for Dean. Sure, the desire had always been there, for both of them, and when it was just the two of them, Sam could be fucking filthy. But afterwards, he’d always been a little shy, almost embarrassed.

He sighed; Christ, he didn’t know. Maybe he was imagining it, projecting his own feelings of guilt and unease. He bent to retrieve his shirt and his eyes caught on a framed photo of Lisa and Ben, one he’d taken at a barbecue party they’d hosted at the old house in Indiana. That had been a good day. At one point, when he’d been grilling burgers, drinking beer and chatting with Ben about baseball, he’d almost gone two full minutes without thinking about Sam. He’d felt guilty afterwards of course, like he was betraying his brother's memory.

The bedsprings creaked and he turned around to watch Sam get to his feet and saunter towards him. He cupped Dean’s face between his huge hands, stared down into his eyes. “Dean, remember what I said. I want you back. I want the two of us back on the road again. That’s where you belong, not here. You know that as well as I do.”

Dean held his breath, didn’t say anything, and in the end, Sam pulled away and bent to pick up his shorts.

Sam took a quick shower while he stripped the bed and put the sheets in the washing machine. He was re-making the bed when Sam came back into the bedroom, fully dressed and ready to go.

“Do you think she knows?” Sam said. His tone was only half-interested, his expression a little contemptuous as he looked around the room. Dean followed his brother’s gaze, taking in the nice soft furnishings, the curtains and pillows and matching comforter, the rocking chair in the corner which had belonged to Lisa’s mom, the framed photos on the wall. He felt like he was seeing it through Sam’s eyes: the domesticity, the normality, the alienness. Sam was right. He didn’t really belong here. He never had. “She must realize you’ll come back with me eventually. You’re a hunter. It’s not something you just give up. Hey, you think she knows about us?”

Dean swallowed. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered the same thing. He honestly didn’t know the answer. Lisa was smart and perceptive and she'd understood him well enough to never try to make him talk about Sam as many other people might have done, realizing that there were some things that couldn’t be talked about.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he said.

“Well, you were mine first. Before anybody else.” Sam turned and looked at him, eyes boring right into him.

Dean met his gaze. “I know,” he said quietly.

“Okay.” Sam nodded. His lips quirked into a half-smile, half-smirk, tension falling away. “Well, I guess I should get going. I'll call you. Think about what I said, Dean, because I meant every word."

He stood on the front porch and watched Sam drive away. After the plastic-mobile had disappeared from view, he turned and stepped back inside the house, closing the door firmly behind him. He slumped against the wall by the door and closed his eyes, counting to twenty in his head, then he pushed himself up and headed up the stairs. He had to wash his brother’s scent off his body before Lisa and Ben got back.

THE END.


End file.
